The Donkey A Gundam Wing Fairytale Fusion
by A.K.A. Anonymous
Summary: Quatre has been four times blessed by his Godmother, the witch Sally. However, he's still a donkey, albeit a very talented one. 3+4--WINNER: Best AU and Best Fusion: Reader's Choice Awards Winter '02


Title: The Donkey (adapted from the brothers Grimm)  
Author: AKA Anonymous  
Pairings: 3+4+3  
Genre: AU, fairytale-ish, romance, humor  
Warnings: Smidgens of citrus, small angst, lots--make that *massive* amounts of sap, twisting of a classic tale to my own whims, a small amount of Wu-bashing, all in good fun, though and my bad sense of humor---NO BEASTIALITY (sp?)   
Notes: This plot bunny bit me right in the @r$e, but you know how that goes. Quatre and Trowa meet when Quatre's almost 17, Trowa's probably around 20.   
  
Oh, and the word 'ass' is used throughout, both as a description of the characters and their attitudes.  
*****************************************  
  
  
Life is just weird, and then it gets stranger and stranger until you just accept it and move on--or go crazy, but I've found, in my life, that's usually no fun and down right stupid at times. You see some things in life don't fit into the nice little categories of being 'normal'. There are things that are beautiful in their own right, but unsightly to those with closed hearts. Likewise there are things that are beautiful that are turned ugly in the sight of the so-called 'righteous'.  
  
Case in point: My son's husband was an ass.   
  
No, really, he was a lovely golden-haired donkey with long, straight ears that droop slightly when sad, a gray-tipped tail that the castle children loved to tug playfully on when he was 'not looking', and large, soulful blue eyes.   
  
He's also a wonderful conversationalist and musician, his table manners are impeccable (a surprisingly graceful eater, even with the hard round hooves), and he has a heart of gold. That's why my son loves him, I'm told, even though he shunned every other suitor: princess, prince, or pauper. I'm proud to say that my boy is considered a handsome man, but his taste in mate, whispered the 'righteous' few, was 'unnatural' in more ways than one.   
  
I don't give a damn. They are happy together, that's enough. I once asked, while his consort had clopped over to mingle with other nobles, why he loved the donkey.   
  
"He is beautiful in my eyes and our love is a beautiful thing, even if some cannot see that," he replied with a small smile. "They haven't seen my love like I have; behind the skin of the donkey, beyond the strangeness that life has inflicted on him, and into that radiant heart." I had no idea how true that was until several days later.  
  
When the noble ass (as I often call him in jest) finally told me how the weirdness of his life began--as it always seems to in these stories--before he was even born. His parents, the king and queen of a desert kingdom not too far away, wanted to have an heir. He had multitudes of sisters: beautiful, intelligent princesses that were beloved in their land, but no males to inherit the throne, as tradition dictated.  
  
So, not heeding the warnings of folklore and fairytales (thank goodness, says my son), they asked the help of a friendly witch. Nice lady, I'd say (better than my son's wizard godfather, at times)--she is the boy's godmother, of course--but the powerful woman was just a little irked at the idea.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Their Majesties stepped lightly in the weed-infested garden, trying to avoid getting the suspicious looking brown muck on their fine shoes, and looked properly stupefied as the witch woman turned to face them. Her hands were liberally covered in mud and stained green to her elbows. The woman's clothing was as worn and dull as any regular peasant; her face, however, was lightly golden in color and angular, unlike those of the desert kingdom. The cat-like eyes were a warm blue, also a contrast to most desert people outside of the royal family.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," the witch smiled, "I wasn't expecting you for another two hours. Darn crystal ball still runs on Eastern Time! (Of course it took me weeks to get it to stop flashing '12:00'!)" She chortled at the strange statement and then bowed slightly. "Well, let's not waste any time...who do you want cursed?"  
  
The queen's face turned as green as their surrounding them. The witch laughed quickly, "Just kidding! Sorry, old witch's humor." They did not look amused. The king's eyes flash in a way that spoke of stocks and guillotines while the queen sniffed deeply at her perfumed handkerchief, her eyes twice as large as normal. "Please, tell me your problems. I am here only to help. My name is Sally Po."  
  
"Lady Sally, we have a great--uh--problem that we've come--eh--to plead you're assistance for," the king replied with as much elegance as he could while trying to wave away the buzzards gathering around. Unfortunately, her Majesty was trying to shoo the pests away as well, spreading her perfume into the air and drawing more flies then ever.  
  
Sally ignored the distraction and motioned for them to explain further. As the royal couple relayed their plight--monarchs with gaggles of girls, but no strong, *masculine* heir--the swarms of flies dissipated as the witch's form began to emanate power. When they were finished the couple looked at the glaring cat-eyes and wanted to sprout wings and flee the area, too.  
  
Even covered in dirt and weeds the Eastern witch's angered presence was enough to make anyone's boots quiver. "That's *it*?" Sally ground out, her eyes pinning the royalty with a venomous look. "That's what you want? You don't have a province to rescue from drought or a pestilence to stop? No? No wars? No assassins trying to poison your court, no life-threatening diseases--just a *male* heir?"  
  
The king squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, as he would do to stare down an upstart nobleman. "It *is* a matter of national security, you understand."  
  
The witch smiled widely and the queen shivered at the new coldness of the blue eyes. "You have been blessed with beautiful, bright girls who are devoted to you with their whole hearts, but you seem to think a *boy* would somehow be the only one *capable* of ruling?" The couple nodded, she sighed. "You wouldn't happen to have a court magician by the name of Wufei, would you?"  
  
"My lady," the king replied, bewildered, "if we had our own wizard we would have asked him. Now, will you help us or not?"  
  
The woman's cold smile grew mischievous. Now, if the king and queen *had* paid any attention to the aforementioned folklore, they would have ran for their lives then and there, but they were set on having their wishes fulfilled. So when Sally agreed to their request, they were delighted.  
  
"Oh, you'll have a *beautiful* son. And though he'll be an ass for a while, he'll be known throughout the lands for his talents; his kindness will win any heart; he'll travel to many distant countries and win a great kingdom to add to your own; and finally, he'll be a great ruler."  
  
And the king and queen believed her. They left tittering to each other about how their son would be *four* times blessed by a good witch. Which just goes to show that sometimes even royalty hears only what they want.  
  
Less than a year later--nine months of Hell, according to the most who lived in the castle--the queen gave birth. The woman's screams of labor soon turned to the king's bellows of outrage, heard even in the city below. The king was appalled at the baby's appearance and ordered it thrown into the river, but the queen wouldn't allow it. "That's your son! Just like the witch Sally said and he's your heir whether you like it or not!" The woman panted for breath, "Cause I'm not going through that again--and this time I *mean* it!"  
  
So the young...male was raised as a prince. It took less than a week for the court to fall in love with the golden-haired baby. The princesses gave him all their toys, the courtiers fell to mush at the slightest bat of innocent blue eyes, and his parents bragged that they had never seen a child learn to walk so fast. They were so enamored with the little one they soon forgot he was a donkey.  
  
All mirrors and reflecting surfaces were taken out of the castle immediately so the boy (as he was refer to as constantly) never knew he was really different. Any questions pertaining to his well-groomed fur or lack of fingers were expertly swept aside by his loved ones and he lived in peace for many years.  
  
In his fifteenth year he wandered into the castle garden, carefully not eyeing the delicious looking roses, when he heard the sound of music. Trotting over he found the court minstrel plunking at his beloved lute. The prince was fascinated with the man's playing and begged to be taught. The musician tried to persuade the youth that it was not possible, but the boy persisted and won the man's heart.  
  
It was extremely difficult and the court despaired the boy's handicapped hooves, but his heart was set on playing so he gave it great care and much practice. When he first played for his parent's court the crowd waited with heavy hearts, but he strummed and plucked a great performance that filled his heart with happiness.   
  
From there he played at the great feasts and festivals for the court and their guests, but on the night of the first Harvester Moon he snuck out with his sisters to revel with the city folk. They, of course, knew and loved the young prince as the kind soul he was and he took a seat with the musicians while his sisters twirled and danced around the city square. With every new melody and song the impromptu band struck up, he learned quickly and joined in, the people cheering him on, and by the end of the night he had out played the whole lot. Merrily, with heavy limbs from dancing and playing, the royal children wished the citizens goodnight and set back for the castle.  
  
On the way, however, they passed an old pond whose water was calm and smooth, reflecting the nightscape like it was a piece of heaven fallen to Earth. The young prince edged away from his sisters to study the water and caught a glimpse of his own reflection.  
  
His sisters cried in horror and pulled him away, assuring him that he was not ugly and they loved him, even if he was an ass. He simply smiled and told them, "I know."   
  
It was in that moment that he decided to leave his home and travel the world, as many young princes seemed prone to do once evil or puberty strikes. His family and friends begged him not to leave, but he was stubborn as his form and held fast to his decision. He dressed in his best traveling clothes, took only a bag of gold and slung his lute over his back.   
  
The capital city gave him a grand farewell as he set off into the wide world beyond the desert kingdom. His heart felt like it had broken in two--one part was saddened by leaving his family and home, the other part rejoiced to search for adventures yet unknown. All he had known in his sixteen years of life was the capital of his parent's kingdom and the people who had raised him. He was eager and fearful of meeting others who would not know of his strange--ness.  
  
Sally's promise of his kindness and popularity with people stayed true, though. However strangers laughed and joked at his appearance at first, he easily won their hearts with his gentle ways or his masterful music. He performed in all kinds of places, for anyone who asked or seemed to be in need. He strummed for crowded taverns and foreign courts, children on the dirty streets or nobles in their spacious manors, for women weeping or celebrating, and for men working in the fields under the hot sun.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
One day in the start of winter, he came to the closed drawbridge of a great castle. He had heard from the local people that the king of this country was a well-liked man with a good and fair heart. His son, on the other hand, was reputed to be very self-centered and cold. Suitors of every rank and station, nobility or not--female and male--had tried to woo the young man, but were shunned and turned away.  
  
Still, the Donkey Prince sat down on the far side of the embankment and started to play. It was not long before guards appeared on the walls to watch and a messenger was sent to the king to tell of the remarkable minstrel upon their doorstep. The king was instantly curious about the donkey and demanded for the youth to be brought in.  
  
The donkey acted humble but proud before the court and the king was delighted at the elocution of his guest. The donkey introduced himself only as 'Quatre', a wandering minstrel and minor noble of the desert kingdoms. Bowing respectfully, he brought up his lute and began to play. His twinkling blue eyes roamed over the crowd as they began to clap along with his tune, coming to rest on the only person not moved by the music.  
  
The stony prince ran his hard green gaze over the newcomer and yawned. Quatre decided to winter there, if invited, to spend more time in the presence of such a handsome, yet poor creature. In all his time traveling he had never met a person who was so cold and unhappy that he couldn't reach them with his music.  
  
It was a challenge he took on wholeheartedly. When asked to stay, he agreed quickly, but then politely refused to be seated with the servants. The nobles quickly agreed and offered a place at their table amongst the great generals and lords, but again he politely declined. With a laugh the king finally spoke, "Well I'll not have you eating in the stables! Come, my friend, sit beside me and my son."  
  
Quatre bowed and accepted the offer. He dined and spoke to his host with such eloquent manners and speech, befitting his royal person, he was requested to take the seat permanently. The donkey minstrel bowed his head and hid a smile. While he had yet to get the prince to engage in conversation, he had caught the young man staring with interest as the king and donkey debated the major topics of the time. (The possibility of dragons becoming an endangered species, the rights of the lords versus the common born, the price of beans in Dubis and such.(1))  
  
Over the next few weeks the two princes (the Donkey Prince still playing the humble minstrel--for once, pun not intended) grew slowly closer. Quatre trailed behind the young man on his daily walks, though he was sometimes cursed at and had sticks thrown at him, but *eventually* the two started a shaky friendship amidst the forest trees.  
  
Quatre, having grown up in a city in the middle of a desert, had seen very few types of trees or wild animals (even the few they saw in the months of winter) and bombarded his quiet companion with questions about them.   
  
But not all of the forest's occupations were sleeping or small. One day while out the two wandered far into the forest and discovered too late starving wolves had surrounded them. Quatre fought valiantly with kicks from his powerful hind legs and jabs from the sharp front hooves. His companion, not having a sword, beat the fiends off with a large branch, but the pack kept closing in, driven by the madness of hunger. Finally Quatre called for the prince to get on his back--something he had never allowed anyone to do before--and they fled.  
  
With the wolves on their heels and the shortness of daylight the two quickly lost the weakened scavengers and their sense of direction, as well. As night fell they plodded on side-by-side, but all too soon it was too dark to see the ground. Tree roots and thorny bushes caught their dragging feet at every step.  
  
"My dear Prince," Quatre spoke quietly, "we should rest 'til morning. You'll hurt yourself in this darkness and the guards will have started looking for us by now. For all we know, we're moving farther away from your father's castle."  
  
The young man shook his head, but stopped. He turned to try and make out his companion in the nil light of the stars. "You're a smart ass, you know that?"  
  
Quatre chuckled, "So I've been told many times, your Highness."  
  
"Trowa."  
  
"Excuse me, your--"  
  
"Call me Trowa."  
  
Quatre's huge smile was hidden in the darkness, "Thank you, Trowa. Now, why don't we find a flat place to lay down, hm?"  
  
After the two had settle down Trowa spoke again. "Why did you pick the name 'Quatre'? For how many legs you had?" The donkey jerked slightly, the rustling of the bushes giving away his startlement. The prince pushed on in a quieter tone, "When you introduced yourself at court the first night, you said your name was Quatre, but you were lying."  
  
The donkey coughed delicately (a rather strange sound from a donkey) and replied with honesty. "My name *is* Quatre, dear Trowa. My parents named me thus because I was blessed four times by my godmother, a witch named Sally."  
  
It was Trowa's turn to laugh. "You've got to be joking! My godfather, a great, cantankerous wizard cursed me three times before throwing my parents out! Good old Wufei is always cursing a witch by that name--wonder if they're the same." The two dropped into silence for a moment. "You still didn't answer my question, though, dear Quatre. What are you lying about?"  
  
"I will tell you in good time," the donkey promised, "but for now sleep."  
  
"I fear I won't be able to sleep in this cold," Trowa replied. It was true, too. Though his body was exhausted it also shook too hard from the cold to let him rest. Quatre moved over to him carefully and curled himself around the other boy. Seeing that the worst of Trowa's shivering had stopped, he started crooning a soft song.  
  
Now you might think that Quatre's voice was worse than your normal boy going settling into adulthood and that it skipped over the register like a badly tuned oboe, but actually he had always had a smooth tenor voice that matched his gentle attitude. Trowa's breathing steadied and he fell into a deep sleep.  
  
Within his dreams Quatre's voice carried on, only it manifested itself in the body of a slim blonde boy not much younger than himself. At first he was blissfully happy to chase the blonde whose voice and presence seemed so familiar, but he soon felt ill of heart. He was chasing a stranger only to hear the voice of the silly ass minstrel. So, when had he fallen for the beautiful donkey?  
  
The blonde noticed his hesitation and was quick to calm him in that sweet tenor, but Trowa shook his head and turned his back on the boy. He was disgusted at his own heart--not for falling for his kind friend, but for the longing he felt for the blonde that had stolen his voice in Trowa's dream.  
  
"Dear Trowa, what is wrong?" the boy pleaded. "Am I so hideous to you?"  
  
"Stranger," the prince replied harshly, "you've had your fun, now leave me be. Do not defile my heart any more."  
  
The silence of his dream was crushing and bitter, but soon broken with muffled sobs. Against his desire, Trowa turned to find the source of the sorrowful sounds. The golden-haired boy had sunk to the ground behind him, his arms limp at his side and his shoulders shaking with every hitched breath. Trowa's heart broke at the sight and he fell to the ground as well.  
  
"Please, don't cry, Stranger," the prince whispered. "I cannot stand the sound, it reminds me too much of..." The boy wrapped his arms around himself and held back his tears by force.  
  
"As you wish, your Highness," the boy replied, looking up to Trowa's eyes. It was the first time Trowa had seen his eyes, beautiful blue jewels that swam with pain. Looking into each other's eyes, Trowa felt on the edge of a great discovery, but it fell out of his grasp as he felt the pull of morning calling him out of slumber. The boy's eyes dripped one more tear before he spoke again. "Forgive me, your Highness, but this may be the last--the only--chance I have..."   
  
And with that small warning the boy kissed him. Not a perfect kiss, but warm and gentle. Just as Trowa's body started to react to the startling move, the boy pulled away and the dream began to fade. Trowa touched his fingers to his lips, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "He even smelled like Quatre."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
When Trowa awoke the castle guards had just found the lost two. Quatre was still sleeping, but Trowa jumped up to greet them. The guardsmen were quick to check the prince over for frostbite and fever, but the young man was in perfect health.  
  
"What's all the worry, anyway?" Trowa asked as they walked back to where Quatre and him had slept.  
  
The Captain of the Guard looked at him incredulously. "It was the coldest night of the year, your Highness. We were afraid you would be dead from the cold." The man went on to ask how they had survived, but Trowa shrugged. He had slept through the night with little problem.  
  
"Now, dear Quatre," Prince Trowa shook the donkey's front hooves, "we're rescued. Time to go home!" He shook the hooves again, but the ass did not respond. The captain watched and placed a hand upon the long, still nose.  
  
"He's cold as ice!"  
  
"What?!" Trowa ran his hands over the still, chilled form. "But how? He has his coat of fur... Quatre? Quatre, wake up!"  
  
The guardsmen threw their cloaks down on the donkey, worry evident in their eyes for the creature and their prince who was rapidly becoming hysterical. "QUATRE! Wake UP!"  
  
One golden, gray-tipped ear finally twitched. "A-as y-you wish," the poor Donkey Prince whispered, "your H-highness."  
  
Relief flooded all the men as the donkey stood slowly on weak legs. The procession back as slow, and no matter how the captain pleaded, the prince refused to leave his friend to the guardsmen's care to get to the safety of the castle quicker. Once at the castle, though, a flock of servants dove in at once, surrounding the prince and dragging him to his rooms to change and recover. He had only a brief moment to see that Quatre was also being herded in the direction of his own room.   
  
His personal servants efficiently fussed and dressed him, never mindful of the steady glares that the young man sent each person or the demands that he was fine. When the swarms of people dribbled off he looked down at his clothing--nightwear. "And what is this?!"  
  
His butler, a professional looking man whose face was as stiff as his starched collar, explained simply, "You're going to bed."  
  
"Like hell! I'm fine. I demand to know how Quatre is doing; he's the one you should be worried about!" The butler's face was as still as a stone. Hissing through his teeth the prince pushed his way out of his bedroom, through the sitting room and into the hall, leaving his servants gasping and calling out in his wake.  
  
"Your Highness, please!" The butler called, distressed. "Where are you going? Your father has ordered us to make you rest!"  
  
"Quatre's bedchambers. You can happily tell my father, the King, that after so many year of stuffing suitors under my nose for inspection, I will be sleeping in the bed of a noble!" Trowa bellowed loud enough to stop all movement and conversation nearby, then turned heel and continued his brisk walk to the other end of the castle.  
  
The Donkey Prince had been settled down on his low bed, cared for by gentle servants and wrapped in warm blankets filled with soft down feathers. A fire had been lit and hot water bottles placed carefully under the mattress. His questions about Prince Trowa were softly waylaid and his eyes began to droop in exhaustion right when Trowa entered.  
  
The young man stopped in the doorway for a moment to watch the scene. His friend lay in a mound of blankets that dwarfed the size of his head, the only part of him that was visible. The clear blue eyes were surrounded by red, as if the creature had been crying, and the spark of life that had been so bright throughout his strange life had dulled. Trowa swallowed and made his way to the bed.  
  
The servants smiled knowingly and left without a sound as the prince lifted the donkey's head, slid carefully onto the soft mattress, then lowered Quatre's head onto his lap.  
  
"Your Highness?" Quatre asked softly.  
  
Trowa gently stroked donkey's soft neck and murmured, "Just sleep, dear Quatre."  
  
Quatre sighed something under his breath as sleep pulled him down, but Trowa didn't hear it clearly as the flicker of the fire had begun it's hypnotic spell. What Trowa heard sounded almost like 'Follow me into dreaming, my love.'   
  
A few minutes later a serving boy knocked and hearing no reply, glanced in. Both princes were sound asleep.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Trowa's fingers played in the thick golden hair almost absently, like his mind wasn't aware of his hand at all. The owner of the blonde hair, sighed and turned his head in Trowa's lap to look up at the sleeping prince. "Why must you be so cruel?"  
  
Shocked, the young man's hand moved away, accidently running over the smooth, pale skin and brushing the other's coral-colored lips in the process. The prince stared at the boy's face for a moment, taking in the small details that screamed familiarity and something hauntingly well-known in those mysterious blue eyes. The boy was dressed in fine clothes that suited his fair skin and slim body well; he looked the part of any regular nobleman, but for his red-rimmed eyes.  
  
"Why have you been so cruel?" the boy asked again, sitting up to look eye-to-eye.  
  
Trowa was confused by the question, but not as confused as you might think, this was a dream after all, strange things just don't seem so strange in dreams. A complete stranger, who had the voice of the most gentle and loving creature he had ever known, the same imaginary boy who had kissed him the night before, had asked a very obtuse and personal question. So he promptly explained what he could.   
  
He told the blonde about how his mother had died when he was young and he was raised by servants and people who would never really speak *to* him. Rather he was spoken at or ignored, the later of which was more the tactic of the nobles. He was very lonely until he became of marriageable age, then his father--seemly desperate to secure his family's throne, as he had no other children--started pressing everything with two legs at him, not caring about his son's confusion and lack of attraction to any of his self-righteous, pampered peers. Nor did he care for the simpering peasants or the confident, arrogant soldiers, or any of the others that had been paraded for his choosing.  
  
"Ah, my love," the boy replied, "I did not know."  
  
Trowa shook his head. "Do not call me that, Stranger. I do not know you, and though you seem like a noble youth, I have finally lost my heart to another."  
  
The pain in the boy's eyes twisted Trowa's heart, but he understood that it had to be done. No matter how his body wanted to touch the boy before him, his heart belonged to Quatre, the minstrel.  
  
"I see," the boy whispered, his tenor voice cracking slightly with tears. "I have no right to ask this, but I must, my heart demands it: May I have one last kiss, your Highness?" The watery blue eyes pleaded louder than his voice. "Please?"  
  
Trowa licked his lips, his heart was pounding itself into pieces. His body moved stiffly and he wasn't sure he was in full control, but he didn't care as the space between their two mouths closed. If their first kiss was like the shock of static electricity passing, this one was a full out lightening strike.  
  
Starting with a gentle pressure Trowa brushed his lips on the boy's testing their texture and noting that it was as velvety as he had imagined before. The blonde's lips moved with his and he couldn't stop himself from tasting the sweet lips with a quick dart of his tongue. The boy gasped and leaned forward more, wrapping his arms around Trowa's neck. The prince lost himself in the kiss and the heat of the boy in his arms. Their tongues battled each other until they had to break apart to breath.  
  
"Dear Trowa..."  
  
"Oh, God!" Trowa pushed himself away from the panting blonde, his heart and voice filled with despair. "Oh, Quatre..."  
  
And he slipped out of the dream.   
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Fully disgusted with himself the prince got out of bed quickly after waking, careful to be gentle as Quatre was still sleeping fitfully. Noticing that the donkey's body was sweating heavily from the mounds of blankets, the prince took it upon himself to discard the wet blankets and wrap his love's body in lighter quilts, but dare not sleep.  
  
Quatre recovered quickly from the chill, but was despondent, spending a great many hours watching the roads to the south with a sad longing. Trowa tried his best to pull his friend from his sudden depression, as did all of the court and servants of the castle, but in vain. At the first sign of spring, Quatre asked leave of the king.  
  
Cries of disbelief fell around him as he stood humbly before the throne, but he only repeated his request.  
  
"Noble minstrel," the king replied, noting the heartbreak on his court's faces and especially his own son, "will you not stay with us? You may have whatever you wish."  
  
The donkey shook his head, his drooping ears flopping like banners. "I'm sorry, your Majesty."  
  
"Not for gold? Or jewels? Costly silks or perfumes?" The king offered, but the donkey continued to decline. "Not for half my kingdom?"  
  
"I'm sorry, my friend," Quatre replied and turned to leave. Silence descended as the king tried to think of a worthy prize for the creature. It was a silence that allowed Trowa's offer to be heard even at a whisper.  
  
"Would you stay for me?"  
  
Tears blurred in the donkey's large eyes, but he held his place at the door. "Do you know what you ask, you Highness? Because I will not stay for less than all of you: Would you sacrifice your love for a song from a silly ass?"  
  
"It would not be a sacrifice, I have already lost my heart to you--the smart ass that you are."  
  
"If this is a dream, dear God," Quatre turned, "let me never wake. I agree to stay."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The strange wedding took place only a few days later and the kingdom rejoiced at their Prince's happiness. The ceremony was simple, the feasting was chaos, and they toasted and celebrated into the night.  
  
While the feast was happening, a noble of the court, a man whose daughter had been rudely scorned by Prince Trowa not too long before, took to whispering in the ear of the king. The king was muddled with wine and ale and became worried at the things the noble spoke to him about and began to fear for his son's safety. Taking the noble's promise that he would make sure of Trowa's security, he watched the man speak with his most trusted servant.  
  
The servant agreed to spy on the young couple and quickly hid herself in the wardrobe of the couple's new suite. Only a few minutes later the two entered laughing at some shared joke. Trowa threw an arm over Quatre's neck and buried his face in the coarse mane. "My dear husband."  
  
Quatre's fur quivered at Trowa's voice. "My Trowa, my love." The two stood together for a moment before Quatre backed away. "I have something to show you, but you must not be afraid." The prince's heart jumped at that well-meant, but mildly terrifying sentence. "But first, would you...tell me you loved me?"  
  
Trowa took a step to his husband, only to see the donkey counter his move. "Quatre? Of course I love you, but you *are* starting to scare me."  
  
"Don't be afraid, love." The donkey raised one of his sharpened fore hooves and twisted it to his own chin. With a long, quick movement the creature cut straight through his own skin, ignoring the cries of horror from his husband.   
  
The servant in the wardrobe was ready to spring and save her Prince from such a horrible monster when the firelight faded in the pure light from the long cut. Her gasp of surprise escaped at the same time as Trowa's.  
  
Trowa watched, horrified as his love's skin peeled back from the self-inflicted wound and radiated a soft white light. The light of white magic at work, he knew in his mind, but that revelation was second to the form that stepped from the golden furred skin. The boy from his dreams, whose eyes and voice were the same as his beloved because they were one.  
  
"It's you! Oh, Quatre!" With a whoop of joy Trowa scooped his love up in his arms and covered the boy's face with small kisses of love. It took the prince a few moments to realize that the boy was silently crying. He swept the crystalline tears away from the snow-white skin with utmost delicacy. "Quatre? Love, what's wrong?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Trowa. I wanted to tell you, I swear, but I thought you hated me," Quatre threw himself into Trowa's arms and clung to him like a child. "No one knows what I really look like, not even my parents. That night in the forest was the first time I took it off. I wished for a way to keep you warm, and it just came to me. I took off my skin to wrap you in it." Quatre looked up to meet Trowa's green gaze. "In the dreams I couldn't help myself, I loved you from the first night I saw you and I had never been able to act like a real human before...You called me 'Stranger' and the second night, after the woods, when you said my name like that, I thought you knew and you hated me."  
  
"NO!" Trowa gripped his husband's form against him. "God, Quatre, I thought I was betraying you--the donkey you, I mean. I had no idea! I'm not sure when you first stole my heart, but I thought I would go mad; my soul wanting one while my body wanted another. But you're the same," Trowa finished, in awe. "I love you so much, Quatre."  
  
Quatre sighed against the prince's shoulder and set his mouth to other tasks than discussing history. Trowa moaned under the gentle assault and soon moved his body in a counter attack. Unknown to either, the spy in the wardrobe wiped away her own tears and moved to the back of the closet, giving the couple as much privacy as she could, considering her situation.  
  
As the castle began to stir again, later in the day than usual due to the celebration, but still in the early hours of morning, Quatre rose and stepped back to his donkey skin. Trowa rolled over and watched with curiosity and a small bit of fear. "What are you doing, love?"   
  
Quatre's blue eyes regarded his lover with warmth. "I'm putting my skin back on, dear one."  
  
"But--but why?!" Trowa stood and ran his hands threw Quatre's fine golden hair. "You don't have to any more. You're not cursed, are you?"  
  
Quatre leaned his head into Trowa's touches, much like he did in his other form, but gave a sad smile. "No, I'm not cursed and I don't have to, but I want to." Seeing the green eyes fill with confusion he tried to explain. "I've been human for three nights, but I've been a donkey for seventeen years. This," he held up the soft skin, "is more who I am than anything else. This is how I was born. Do you understand?"  
  
"I understand, but I wish..." Trowa trailed off.  
  
"Maybe someday, my love," Quatre stole a quick kiss, "but for now, will you accept my decision? Will you love me, even though I'm a smart ass?"  
  
Trowa's laughter echoed through the halls and soon after the two--the young prince and his donkey consort--left for the dining hall together. Had either looked back they might have caught sight of nobleman's servant walking quickly in the opposite direction.  
  
Now, so you do not think so poorly of the king, you must know that after he gave his consent to the noble to betray his son's privacy he regretted the hasty order, and retracted it within minutes. The noble assured him that the servant had not been sent yet, so the Prince's suite was free of spying eyes. In actuality the man had told the girl even before he had even spoken to the king. Then it was too late for the king to check the man's words, the couple had left for the night.   
  
While the aging monarch paced his rooms all night, throwing off the effects of the barrels of alcohol with remorse and worry, the nobleman waited for the spy's return. When morning came his breath caught as his servant knocked upon his door. He listened, enraptured, as the girl spilled the heartbreaking story.  
  
"The boy was dressed in rich silks and carried himself just like your Lordship," the girl insisted. "My Prince seemed to recognize him, too. I didn't hear everything they said, but his Highness was very happy until the donkey took up his coat again, my Lord. Even then, I've never seen him smile so."  
  
The nobleman's mind was spinning. He certainly had not expected a tale such as that when he sent the girl to spy, but now that he had heard it, he was determined to see it for himself. His mind raged at the thought that the donkey had been tricking them the entire time, winning their prince threw magic and enchantment.  
  
The rest of the day he acted normal and even embraced his Prince and the donkey with fabricated joy, but as night slipped he excused himself early and hid himself, as the servant girl had, in the wardrobe of the wedding suite.  
  
The ass entered first, flicking his tail playfully at his husband who closed the door and locked it with a grin. The king's son crossed to sit on their bed as the donkey proceeded to cut away his skin, just as he had the night before. A boy of late teen years stepped out and the noble was instantly impressed by the presence of the slim boy. Even ignoring the fine clothing and handsome features, the donkey-boy *felt* like royalty. The nobleman's heart twisted at the sight of the two, obviously much in love...very obviously. The man turned his back carefully and covered his burning ears.  
  
In the hours to follow the man thought of his own beautiful daughter, who had been rejected and humiliated by the cold prince. The prince, of course, was cursed and therefore the fault was not on him, but the ass; that was a different story. His heart turned hard to the couple and he thought only of revenge.  
  
In the latest hours of the night the man opened his hideaway's door and crossed the room. Looking down on the happy couple he smiled and left the room--taking only one thing with him.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Trowa's head jerked up as he was pulling on a new shirt, his father's angered voice echoed down the hallway. Quatre was beside him, slipping back into his own clothing while still half asleep. Several cries of shock followed, moving closer. "Something's wrong, love. Sounds like Father's coming, hurry!"  
  
Quatre's face paled and he threw on his finery then searched the floor for his skin. It was nowhere to be seen. Someone pounded on their door, shaking the sturdy frame with the blows. "Trowa! Open this door NOW!"  
  
Trowa's eyes were wide with fear, never in his life had his father yell at him like the roar that the king was using now. His body followed out the order without even a thought to his husband's half-panicked state.  
  
The king, several nobles and two guards burst into the room like water through a floodgate. They stopped suddenly, clumping together as if held back by an invisible barrier at the sight before them. Poor Quatre, sloppily dressed and shaking with fear stood facing them, his pale skin gone ash.   
  
Trowa fought his way through the crowd to stand beside his husband, the younger boy immediately hid behind him and wrapped an arm around his waist, as if he excepted the mob to try to pry him off his lover. Trowa gripped that arm in what he hoped was a comforting, not fearful, manner as he addressed his people in a manner befitting of his station.  
  
"What the HELL is *this*?!"   
  
"I could ask YOU the same thing!" His father replied with a shake of his finger to the cowering boy. "WHO the HELL is HE? What have you done, boy? How could you take another into your bed?!"  
  
"What?" Trowa blinked at the accusing tone. "This is Quatre, father. This is the *real* Quatre." The crowd looked decidedly flabbergasted.   
  
Quatre stepped around, still gripping Trowa's side like you would a tree in a windstorm. "It's me, your Majesty," Quatre's tenor was clear and obviously familiar and frightened. "Please, forgive me, I seem to have misplaced my skin or I would have dressed properly."  
  
The king gaped. The courtiers and guards looked about ready to fall over, except for one. The devious nobleman pushed through, intent on seeing the couple's downfall. "Your Majesty, you have been deceived by this evil creature! He has enchanted you and your son and has been defiling his Highness's person with his evil ways! We must be rid of the monster!"  
  
"What! No!" Trowa wrapped his arms around his love and stepped back from the advancing guards. Quatre shivered in his arms and the boy's face shown with shock and fear. "You lay any hand on Quatre and I'll rip it off!"  
  
"Your Majesty, please! I would never hurt Trowa or you! I have served you loyally all these months; please believe me, my friend! Please!" Quatre begged, his blue eyes tearing up.  
  
"STOP!" the king bellowed. "I will hear the truth of this. *Now*." The nobleman and Trowa both started speaking at the same time. "HUSH!" The monarch shook his head. "Another word from either of you and I'll have you thrown in the dungeon until I have finally figured out what is happening. Is that understood?" The king's eyes flashed dangerously and both men nodded. "Now, Quatre--if that's really you--would you explain yourself?"  
  
Now that Trowa was the object of the king's ire, Quatre stepped to the front, as if to protect the taller prince from his own father. "Your Majesty, I have been a traveling minstrel for the last year, a donkey my whole life, and I would have continued that existence, if I had not fallen in love with you son. It was for his sake that I had the courage to strip out of my donkey's skin, once to save his life from winter's chill and after our marriage to please him as a husband should. I did not mean to cause trouble or deceive your Majesty, truly, and if you have lost your faith in me I will be happy to work for it again--"  
  
"That is enough, good minstrel," the king interrupted. "Your eloquence has not changed in your transformation, indeed I'm happy that my son has landed such a fine and rare catch." He turned and aimed his royal glare at the nobleman. "I think you have a lot of explaining to do, sir. By swearing to me that my son's consort was plotting treason and murder under falsehoods is perjury to the crown and punishable by death, but it can be discussed elsewhere. Trowa, Quatre, my apologies."  
  
But before the guards could catch him, the nobleman fled. "I'll still have my daughter's revenge, freak!"  
  
Quatre's eyes widened and he twisted out of Trowa's grasp. "My skin!"   
  
The blonde ran through the door after the older man as fast as he could, and though his legs were quite strong, he was not used to having only two. The man outdistanced him and Trowa caught up. Grabbing Quatre's elbow the two raced faster, but not fast enough.  
  
The man stood triumphantly before the dinning hall's grand fire pit, the blaze there was never allowed to go out and at this moment roared as if hungry. The man's eyes carried a hint of madness as he lifted the golden hide over his head and watched with pleasure.   
  
The blonde cried in terror as the skin fell into the fire. Trowa had to use his grip on Quatre's elbow to stop the boy from jumping in the pit with his beautiful skin. Screaming and sobbing the boy watched until the coat had turned to ash then flung himself into his lover's arms.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Hours later found the young couple, both red eyed and exhausted from the loss of Quatre's donkey form, lying together. Their limbs tangled and Trowa's fingers playing idly through Quatre's golden hair as if slowly memorizing the texture in case this form was taken from him also.  
  
"What do you want to do now, dearest?" Trowa asked, though he feared the answer.  
  
"I don't know," the tenor voice replied. "I think I should go home for a while. My family must be worried for me."  
  
"Then I will go with you," Trowa said, holding back tears, "I'll take my flute and we'll travel as minstrels together. As long as I have you I don't care about anything else."  
  
Quatre sputtered and laughed, gripping his stomach in mirth and surprising his husband. "My love, you are a wonder, but we would not need be anything than what we are."  
  
Trowa scooted over to look down on his lover's face, his eyes asking his questions. Quatre smiled. "The lie I told the day I met you was a lie of omission, my love. I am not a humble minstrel, nor am I a minor noble. My parents are the king and queen of their own great kingdom--an exotic, hot land in the deserts south of here. I am their heir, the Crown Prince, just like you."  
  
The green-eyed man froze in place at the statement. Slowly, ever so minutely, his eyes took a devilish look and he fixed it on the boy beneath him. "You wise ass!"  
  
Quatre laughed again, slipping his hand into the fine hair at the back of Trowa's neck. "I thought you said I was a 'smart ass.'"  
  
"That was back when I didn't know better," the older boy growled. "Now, I'll miss some of it. Especially going to the market with you." Quatre looked at him quizzically. Trowa sighed dramatically, "Yeah, all the girls said I had such a cute ass and I *had* to agree with them." Quatre swatted him with his free hand, then let it wander of it's own accord, taking the sting off the hit quickly.   
  
"You did hear my father today, didn't you?" He said with a mischievous smile. "Lying to royalty is a punishable offence."  
  
"Oh?" Quatre's eyes widened, "And what punishment do I deserve, my Lord?"  
  
Trowa's grin was carnivorous as he closed the space between them. "I'm sure I'll think of something."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
In the later years of my life, after Trowa and Quatre had come home from their adventures to the south, I gave them half of my kingdom to settle them down and when I die Trowa will inherit the rest while Quatre will inherit his family's throne. Don't ask me how they'll carry *that* out, but I have faith in them.  
  
As for two who put them in the whole mess in the first place--no, not Quatre's parents--but the infamous bickering magicians, Sally Po and Chang Wufei, they admitted having planned the match, and took full credit for the happy couple. Then went back to bickering like alley cats in heat.  
  
I pulled Wufei aside for one moment, though, and reminded him of the three curses he had placed on my son. (By the way, none of them had come true.) And he laughed in my face, saying that he only yelled like to get rid of us, as we had interrupted a delicate spell, and he was only kidding about the curses.   
  
"What kind of godfather would I have been if I had *actually* cursed the boy to never fall in love, die horribly at a young age and lose the kingdom in a poker game?" The Eastern laughed, his female counterpart sighed and shot me a compassionate look, but then had to turn to cover her own smile. Easterners are strange, but Eastern magicians are impossible.  
  
It was a load off my shoulders, that's for sure! After all, everyone is living happily ever after.  
  
*****************************************  
  
And that is my intro fic...what'dya think? ^_~ 


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